Bumble Bee
by White Eevee
Summary: Nezumi's morning sucks and there is a bee on the bus he's riding.


Today sucked, of that much Nezumi was certain.

For one, he had to get up early—after a night of poorly planned partying, mind you. "Killer hangover" did not even live in the same universe as what Nezumi had when he woke at the ungodly hour of eight to dress, with his usual slovenly grace, and dragged himself to theater practice.

For two, it was Monday, which meant there was no theater practice, and he had dragged his hung-over ass out of bed for nothing.

For three, the new barista at the sad excuse for a coffee shop down the block hit on him, which, okay, wasn't _that_ sucky, but he was in a horrible mood and was not as witty or artful as he usually was in fending off unwanted advances. The result: he was fairly certain the girl was now traumatized, and that he might have to find another cruddy coffee shop to frequent.

And there were no freaking seats left on the bus.

 _Fabulous_. _What a_ fantastic _day this is turning out to be._

Nezumi scanned the occupied seats for the person who was least likely to send him over the tipping point. Pickings were slim, as they were likely to be on this day that the universe had decided to conspire against him. He finally settled on a seat in the back, next to some strange white-haired guy who dressed like a middle-schooler, but looked about his age.

Before sitting down, Nezumi paused to glare at the seat's occupant. He wanted to make sure they knew he was not to be screwed with, not today. He also wanted an excuse to stare, because this person's hair was just plain weird, all fluffy and feathery, but white, like an old person's. Or… it wasn't really white, he supposed, more just an obscenely light shade of blond. Platinum, or whatever they called it. But the way it caught the sun's rays it looked stark white.

The man stared back, wide-eyed at the hostility Nezumi was exuding. Nezumi held the man's dark gaze for a second longer and then plopped down next to him. His seatmate shrunk toward the window and buried his nose in his novel, and Nezumi was pleased that his message had been received properly. He closed his eyes and attempted to get a little sleep between now and his stop.

This worked for all of zero seconds. He was fatigued, but apparently not enough or in the way that granted instant sleep. He grumbled and continued to try. A slight breeze drifted in now and then through the open window. It was almost pleasant, except it kept blowing wisps of his hair against the side of his face, which tickled.

Nezumi huffed pettishly and opened his eyes. "Could you—"

A faint humming noise and a movement on the man's leg distracted him. He glanced down to see a wasp casually perusing the area of jean just above the man's knee. Nezumi wrinkled his nose and shifted away.

 _Ugh…_ He hated insects, especially the stinging, biting kind, and it was this hatred that made Nezumi act like a decent human being for a second.

"Hey. There's a wasp on your leg."

The man didn't react; he just continued to stare down at his book. Nezumi frowned. _Fine, then._ He glanced down at the wasp. He didn't want to sit the whole ride with it next to him, so he began to look for a new seat.

"Where?"

Nezumi blinked. The question was so strangled and quiet that he almost didn't catch it. He turned back to the man. He still hadn't moved an inch, but looking closer, Nezumi realized it was because he had gone rigid. He was frozen in sheer terror, if the wide-eyed, tight-lipped look on his face was anything to go by. There even seemed to be a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

"On your leg," Nezumi said. "Your knee."

The man's throat contracted as he swallowed. "Please… Help me."

Nezumi's brows drew together. "What?"

"I'm allergic. To bees…" He spoke very, very slowly and quietly, as if scared the insect would hear.

Nezumi's heart sank. "How allergic are we talking?"

"Very. Hospital level," the man forced between clenched teeth. "Please—"

He inhaled sharply, and Nezumi knew that he had finally caught sight of the wasp, which was now poised on the very tip of his knee.

"Okay. Well…" They both stared at the insect, and the longer they watched it twitch its antennas, the more intimidating it became. Nezumi started to sweat. "Right… Shit. What do you want me to do?"

"S-something. Anything. Just… get it off me."

"Right… I'll just…" Nezumi slowly raised his hand and watched the wasp a moment longer, taking aim.

The man cast a sidelong glance at him and his eyes went even wider. " _Don't_ ," he hissed.

Nezumi's hand froze midair. _Of course. Bad idea. If I miss, it would irritate the wasp._ Or maybe he would squash the wasp and through some freak fluke it would flatten just so that the stinger jabbed the man in the leg.

"I don't want to hurt him."

"… _What?_ " Nezumi hissed. "You're one sting away from anaphylactic shock and _you're worried about hurting the wasp_?"

The man looked tortured. He opened his mouth to reply when the wasp suddenly went airborne. The man yelped and dove away so fiercely he almost tackled Nezumi off the seat.

"Fuck!" Nezumi barked. He snatched the man's book from his hands and backhanded the wasp out the open window before lurching across both the man and the seat to slam the window shut.

If Nezumi had not been so frazzled by the situation, he might've commended himself on the fluidity and speed of his actions. As it were, Nezumi sniffed in triumph and turned around.

The entire bus was staring at them—or rather, him, since he was the one who shouted expletives and flew across the bus to slam a window. One woman had her hands clasped over her child's ears, and she was looking at him with that prudish motherly hatred that Nezumi was all too accustomed to.

"He's allergic to bees," Nezumi snarled viciously at the crowd, jerking his head in the direction of the man, who was safely hidden on the bench of the seat, blinking gratefully up at him.

The onlookers continued to make disturbed and annoyed faces, but one by one they turned back around. Nezumi plopped down into the seat, now by the window, and stared out of the glass.

 _I'm exhausted. Why in the_ hell _did I do that? I don't even like people, let alone help them._ But he supposed this incident was an understandable lapse in his usual misanthropy. The threat of someone keeling over and dying next to him was a good incentive.

The man beside him sighed raggedly, apparently as fatigued as Nezumi, even though he hadn't actually done anything but squeak and whimper the whole time. He was pale from fright and overexertion, and between his pallor and his hair he looked almost ghostly. Nezumi fixed him with a withering look, but the man offered him an undaunted smile.

"Thank you," he said. "You really saved me there." It was the first time he had spoken louder than a terrified whisper, and Nezumi noted the warmth coloring his words. He crossed his arms and didn't answer.

The man sat up. "I'm Shion," he said after some silence.

"Just because we shared a harrowing bee experience doesn't mean I want to know your name," Nezumi deadpanned. He wasn't in as bad a mood as he had been, but for some reason he felt like being an ass. There was something a little too soft and sweet looking about this person, and it made him want to be prickly.

"Shion" pressed his lips into an apologetic line. "Sorry, I just… Sorry. And thank you. Again." He ran his hand through his hair. "It's just when you told me about the wasp, I remembered I forgot my EpiPen today, so you did me a huge favor—two huge favors." Shion nodded his head. "I'm in your debt."

If Shion had just left it at "thank you," Nezumi would have had no trouble ignoring him for the entirety of the ride and pretending this never happened. But Shion had brought the word "debt" into the conversation, which entailed all sorts of obligations not to be disregarded.

Nezumi knew other people tossed around the word with no strict concept of honor or responsibility. To them it was just something they said to express gratitude. But Nezumi's grandmother had impressed on him the magnitude of owing someone, and it was not a teaching he could easily escape, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Whether Shion meant what he said or not, if he was going to claim to be in his debt, he should know to whom he was indebted.

"Nezumi," he mumbled. Shion tilted his head, and Nezumi shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to look careless. "My name is Nezumi."

Shion's eyes lit with understanding. He beamed at him. Nezumi fought hard to keep the surprise from showing on his face. People didn't look at him like that.

He caught the eye of the mother again.

 _There._

 _That_ was the look that he usually received: contempt with just the slightest tinge of disappointment, not happy puppy when his owner's just returned home, which was weirdly what Shion looked like as he peeked out from under the fringe of his bangs and grinned.

"Nice to meet you, Nezumi," he chirped, and the brightness left Nezumi feeling singed. "Do you usually take this bus?"

"…Why do you ask?"

"I just started taking this bus. I have a new job in the city center, and it's a little too far to bike, so..." He shrugged, still smiling away. "But these buses are more crowded than I expected. Are they usually this busy?"

 _What is this guy going on about?_

The bus began to slow and the driver shouted out the name of the next stop.

Shion glanced up. "Oh. This is me..." He slid to the edge of the seat, his mouth tugging into a frown. "Well… It was nice meeting you, Nezumi. Maybe we'll see each other again sometime…" His sentence trailed cautiously off until it sounded like a question.

"Unlikely. I don't usually ride the bus at this time."

"Oh… Okay."

Nezumi knitted his brows at Shion's crestfallen look. Of course, he was perfectly aware that this man wanted to prolong their acquaintance. Shion was practically broadcasting his intentions. But _why?_ He hadn't even been a little nice to him, even when he was rescuing him. He ousted the wasp more out of his hatred for bees and a wish to get through the ride without commotion than out of any sense of altruism.

Why would a nice, disturbingly cheerful person like Shion want to hang out with a grump like him?

Nezumi's brain was so busy with this baffled contemplation, his mouth decided to take advantage and betray him by saying, "I usually take the buses closer to West Block."

Shion's eyes flashed at this new information. "West Block? That's not far. I live in Lost Town," he gushed. He eyed the door as the bus pulled up to the curb. "My mom has a bakery there. Karan's Bakery? Maybe you've heard of it?"

Nezumi didn't recognize the name and he shook his head to indicate so as Shion inched as slowly as possible toward the exit, still babbling.

"She makes the best cherry cakes in the whole city. You should drop by sometime."

"Uh…"

"Hey, kid," the driver growled from the front of the bus. "You getting off or what?"

"Yes! I'm coming," he called, before returning to Nezumi. "You can have your pick of whatever you want—as a thank you. Come by sometime," he repeated, turning for the door. "Bye, Nezumi. And thanks!" He waved and grinned again in what Nezumi was beginning to think was his default expression.

Nezumi stared at the door even after Shion was long gone and the bus began to pull away from the curb.

 _Is this what happens when you help someone? I'm not sure I like this._

Nezumi sighed and dropped his head into his hands. _Hm?_ He reached down and plucked a book off the floor. Shion's book, it must be. Nezumi didn't quite remember—it had all been a bit haphazard—but he must have dropped the book on the floor to free his hands for the window.

He groaned. _Great. The airhead forgot his book._ _Now what am I supposed to do? Keep it?_

 _Go see him at the bakery,_ a second voice whispered in response, and Nezumi tried to ignore it. He flipped the book cover-side up and read the title: _1001 Arabian Nights._ Nezumi furrowed his brow. _Interesting_. He fingered through a few pages.

Ten minutes later he was well into the book and the suckiness of the day seemed miles away.


End file.
